New Girl In Town Part 3
by Senna Night
Summary: There's a new girl next door and she isn't the nice girl you thought that lives next door...


Hel-ga. It felt strange when I spoke it out loud, but it seemed...right. I think   
it matches my personality, I guess or should that be I hope? "Is Helga my name?"   
I asked.  
  
  
The man looked into my eyes and silently spoke, "Yes." One word said it all. I   
was named Helga. Questions flew through my mind I started to feel dizzy with the   
thoughts. Questions like, who's my mom? Or, who's my dad? And, where are they?   
  
  
"Um, I have another question to ask sir. I was wondering, do you know where my   
parents are?"  
  
  
"Well, I called your parents and they should have been here by now..." said the   
man.  
  
  
"But..." I spoke softly, not wanting to hear the answer.  
  
  
"But, they should've been here three days ago." Hot tears ran down my face.   
  
  
"No! No! It can't be. They have to be alive. They have to be," I grabbed the man   
shirt and I shook him violently. Anger was getting the better of me. He let me   
shake him, till I was too weak to even move.  
  
  
"It's alright Helga. Everything will be alright," said the man. He was trying to   
comfort me but it wasn't going to help me. Then he put his hands on my   
shoulders. My strength was returning and I got angry once again. I grabbed his   
hands off of my shoulders. They I started to yell.  
  
  
"What is alright? Nothing is alright! I lost my parents while I was in the   
hospital while I'm apparently suffering from a concussion and a loss of memory,   
and you expect me to believe everything's alright? I don't know who you are, but   
I thank you for saving my life, but I just want you to leave, now." I spoke as   
sadness started to take over me. I release the man's shirt slowly and I lay back   
down on my bed. Then the man looked at me sadly and left the room quietly.   
  
  
  
"Your backpack is next to your bed on the chair," He said over his shoulder   
without turning his head around. Then he walked away. I could see nurses and a   
few doctors staring at me from the hallway. I guess I made too much noise. My   
mouth muttered a few apologies and looked over to the chair with my backpack on   
it. Well, at least the man said it was my pack. I reached over to grab the pack   
and almost fell out of bed. The rails they have on these beds are too high. How   
do the health board expect people to do anything for themselves especially when   
they have no one left to help them. Well, I guess they don't.   
  
  
I unzipped the pack and looked inside. When I saw what was inside I could see an   
old beaten up history book, a math book, and a small pink book. I decided to   
take a look at the pink book since it seemed to be the only logical thing that   
might actually help me regain my memory. My eyes scanned the pages inside. All I   
could find was some really sappy poems about some weird football head kid that   
I'm guessing was a boy I had like, I mean, I still like I guess. I sketched a   
picture of him in my mind from the poems. He had a football head, short yellow   
hair, tall, and very handsome. Now my mind was driving me insane with un-  
answered questions.  
  
  
I decided that was enough questions for my mind to hold for tonight. I slid my   
pink book (or is it a diary) into the pack. Then I dropped my pack over the side   
of my bed and then I lay down on the soft bed. My eyes slid over to the clock.   
It read: 9:20PM. I'm guessing it was time to go to sleep. I am not sure how old   
I was so till I remember, if I remember, I'm going to bed at around 9:30PM. That   
was my mental note for the day.  
  
  
I put my hands together palms flat, like how a monk would pray to God. Then I   
started to pray out loud, "Dear God. I may not know who I am or why I'm still   
living, but I ask you to help me get my memory back. I need to know what had   
happened to me, and my parents. If you have time to help me I would be really   
grateful. Thank you for your time. Amen."  
  
  
I pressed the button that turned the lights off and fell into a deep sleep for   
the night.  
  
********************************************************************************  
Next day.  
11:30 AM  
Hospital  
********************************************************************************  
  
  
I woke up with the sun in my eyes, blinding me from seeing a person that was   
sitting in a chair next to my bed. I put my bandaged hand over my eyes and I   
could see the same man I asked to leave last night.  
  
  
"I don't mean to be rude, but why are you here?" I asked curiously.  
  
  
"I'm here to take you home?" replied the man.  
  
  
"What do you mean? I don't have any family to stay with."   
  
  
"Helga, I only said your parents hasn't appeared, yet. You have a sister named   
Olga. I called her and she's going to come take care of you," I tried to speak   
then he put his hand in the air telling me to wait, "I called the police and   
they checked your home for any signs of any struggle from your parents. There   
was none, but the police did find that your father had called the Sanla   
residence."  
  
  
"Sanla. Sanla. I know I've heard of that name before, but I can't remember   
where."  
  
  
"She's the blonde hair girl that I believe you fought on the playground." Then I   
started to remember her.  
  
  
"Riska Sanla of the Rose Sanla family." I spoke. I didn't even know why I said   
it, I just did. She was the blonde bitch who made be bleed all over the ground.   
I almost died cause of her. The pain started to come back to my head.   
  
  
"How long have I have been at the hospital?" I asked the man.  
  
  
"Three weeks and maybe a couple of days, I'm not exactly sure. I've left a   
substitute at my place at school so I could be here when you woke."  
  
  
"So you're a teacher?" I wondered. If he was a teacher maybe I'm in one of his   
classes?  
  
  
"Oh, yes. We haven't been properly introduced since your accident. My name is   
Mr. Simmons. I'm your teacher and you're in fourth grade." I'm in fourth grade?   
Gee, I thought I seemed older than that. Most tragedies that you read in books   
don't have kids being hit with such a disastrous event. Well, This is real life   
and not a silly fantasy book that people actually believe in.  
  
  
"Mr. Simmons. I'm ready to leave and head home." With that answer Mr. Simmons   
called from a doctor and before I knew it, we were checked out of the hospital.  
  



End file.
